


Well I Talk About Boys, Now

by Evenbechbaesheim



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Boys with feelings, Boysquad, Drinking, Drinking & Talking, House Party, Jonas is a stoner, M/M, Marijuana, Shotgunning, Smoking, Teenage Drama, background evak, but obviously they feature, deep talks, mentions of... well everyone, obviously, trying to write something that isn't Evak for once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-01 00:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13282767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evenbechbaesheim/pseuds/Evenbechbaesheim
Summary: It’s the kind of party Jonas actually finds himself enjoying, and not in that five-more-beers-and-I’ll-be-having-fun kind of way. It’s the perfect mix of both his friends and people he only really knows from other parties- thirty or so of them spilling out between the living room and kitchen and garden, drinking and socialising and enjoying the summer, together.Jonas spaces out at a party and finds himself in the unlikely company of the last person he punched. Even more shocking is how much he enjoys it.





	1. part one

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little jonas x mikael thing. Because why not?

 

PART ONE

 

 

It’s the kind of party Jonas actually finds himself enjoying, and not in that _five-more-beers-and-I’ll-be-having-fun_ kind of way. It’s the perfect mix of both his friends and people he only really knows from other parties- thirty or so of them spilling out between the living room and kitchen and garden, drinking and socialising and enjoying the summer, together.

 

 

Sat back on a supple leather couch with a beer in his hand and half his eighth wrapped up tightly in his back pocket, Jonas is happy to observe the party as it happens around him. Mahdi’s in the corner chatting up some girl with bright red hair and an interested smile, Magnus is swaying around with Vilde in the centre of the room and Isak, the princess that he is, is perched on his boyfriend’s lap with a smug little smirk, mid-conversation with Sana and Mutta, Even’s fingers ghosting over the side of his thigh. His friends are happy- and that makes Jonas happy, so he smiles to himself, and relaxes back in the sofa just a little more.

 

“Having fun?”

 

It’s a voice he sort of recognises, but can’t place immediately until Even’s ex-best-friend, current-friend flops down beside him with a relaxed, easy-going smile. Jonas feels a little awkward- he knows the beef between their group and Sana’s brother’s friends is long since squashed (not that it was ever his beef in the first place) but it’s still odd, hanging around in the same social circle with a boy you once punched, skirting around each other and trying not to make too much conversation.

 

(and it _really_ doesn’t help that Mikael is so fucking pretty, his heart skips every time they catch eyes)

 

“I am.” Jonas nods, sips his beer, nonchalant as ever. “It’s a good party.”

 

“I was freaking out, worried everyone would trash my house,” Mikael admits, shaking his head so his soft, brown hair bounces around his shoulders. Jonas stills slightly. Isak had mentioned it was one of the ‘balloon boys’ (a stupid nickname that he doesn’t understand nor care for but simultaneously _can’t stop using_ ) hosting tonight. He just didn’t realise it was _this_ balloon-boy in particular; soft brown eyes sparkling at his, tanned brown hands playing with each other in his lap. “-but, you know. So far, so good.”

 

“We aren’t like that.” Jonas says and Mikael nods softly.

 

“Nah. You guys are pretty cool.”

 

It’s a perfectly natural end to the conversation. With any other guy who he wasn’t really friends with (but certainly didn’t consider an enemy), Jonas would be content with that. He’d get up, drag Isak’s mouth away from Even’s and onto the end of a joint. But there’s something different about the silence that stretches between himself and Mikael, and Jonas realises a second too late that he’s been staring into _those_ eyes for quite a while, unblinking.

 

( _It isn’t fucking fair_ , he thinks. _You can’t just come here with eyes as brown as a chocolate lab and not expect to be stared at._ )

 

“Is there something on my face?” Mikael asks, laughing nervously.

 

“Uh, no- of course not! No.” Jonas splutters, dragging his eyes away but only managing to last a few seconds longer before he’s drawn in again, Mikael fidgeting awkwardly on the couch. “Sorry. I was just… spaced out. I’m high. Ignore me.”

 

“Ay, I thought I smelled weed.” Mikael’s nervous, bashful smile transforms into a slow-spreading, knowing grin. Jonas isn’t sure which expression he prefers, but as Mikael absentmindedly bobs his head along to the beat of the rap song playing loudly in the background, all Jonas can think is that Mikael would look even prettier with a fat joint hung between his soft lips.

 

“Wanna smoke?” he offers. Mikael looks around the room, searching for someone- Jonas tries to follow but he’s hopeless, distracted by the faint smattering of small, brown moles around Mikael’s nose and underneath his eye. There’s another just above his lip. Jonas wants to trace the space between them with his finger just to see what constellation they’d make.

 

“Sure.” Mikael smiles at him, and then he’s reaching out- taking Jonas’ hand between his.

 

 

Here’s the thing.

 

Jonas has always had girlfriends. He isn’t sure why- he wasn’t ever desperate for romantic attention, he didn’t ever crave others to make himself whole and he certainly doesn’t feel lost in himself without a body in his bed, he’s just stumbled his way into relationships across middle school and the early part of high school- from Ingrid to Eva to the time he bagged himself a third year and even the penetrator guys had to give him eternal props. It’s all purely coincidental. Jonas doesn’t go out looking for female attention. Female attention just often finds him- and with a few sweet words and soft touches, he knows how to wrap most girls around his little finger ( _not_ that he agrees with that particular analogy, because it sounds possessive and misogynistic. Magnus had just said it once, and it had kinda stuck in his head ever since)

 

Jonas didn’t mean it. He didn’t ever mislead girls, promising them things he could never give them in exchange for sexual satisfaction. He certainly doesn’t lie- and he genuinely enjoys most girls and their company. It just happens that he find the whole thing ridiculously easy.

 

Which is why it’s entirely baffling to him why his hands are shaking so much, sat far down the end of Mikael’s _giant_ garden, what feels a thousand miles away from the rest of the party and civilisation. He’s trying to roll the joint- a service he’s provided for himself and the boys thousands of times with practiced ease- but his hands are shaking and his fingers keep slipping and he accidentally blew the rolling paper away with his breath _three_ times in a row. Mikael had laughed-  not particularly harsh or cruel, just amused- and Jonas thought his heart was going to burst.

 

Because he’s _nervous_ , and he’s never felt nervous around a girl before.

 

Jonas has never shied away from the fact that he likes boys. He’s never vocalised it to anyone- not even Isak- but it’s always been there. It’s a distant, lingering attraction that he’s never really acted on- not because of internalised homophobia or straight up fear, just because he’s _always_ been too busy having girlfriends. Now, in the easy-going ride of second year without a relationship to worry about (Aside from that ill-thought out, brief liaison with Emma before she shoved her tongue down _Penetrator Chris_ ’s throat at Sana’s Eid party) he’s been thinking about it more and more. He’s just been waiting for the right boy to test the theory on.

 

And then there’s Mikael.

 

Jonas always thought he was attractive, sure, but there’s the lingering tension of their first meeting ending in violence that has always rubbed him the wrong way. He was uneasy around Mikael and the rest of the boys for the longest time- long after Even and Isak told them all it was fine and Magnus and Mahdi shrugged the whole incident off without grudge. Jonas hasn’t ever been so quick to forgive. Elias had socked Isak in his eye- and sure, Isak _fucking deserved it_ \- but watching him crumple and hit the floor hadn’t given Jonas much time for rationality.

 

“You got it?” Mikael raises an eyebrow, nodding to the joint in Jonas’ hands, and a little less shakily, Jonas nods, stroking the paper to flatten and smooth it, before twisting the end. Then, he holds it out to Mikael in offering.

 

“You can do the honours.” He says, patting around his jacket for a lighter, before handing that over too. Mikael smiles, but shakes his head, pushing Jonas’ hand back (and _fuck_ , his skin is just as soft as it looks) towards his chest.

 

“Nah dude, it’s your weed.”

 

“It’s your house.” Jonas counters. Mikael holds his eye contact for a few heart-stopping seconds, and then huffs a laugh.

 

“I’m not arguing with that, or free weed.” He grins, taking the joint from between Jonas’ fingers and resting it between his lips, fiddling with the lighter for a few seconds before the spark catches, and burst into an orange flame. The garden is dark, the lights from the party so far down that they can’t really see much of each other that well. Jonas is thankful for the lighter then, for giving Mikael’s face such a pretty orange glow.

 

He inhales the smoke slowly, sort of like the way Jonas has seen Even do it on the rare occasion Isak lets him smoke with them _without_ throwing a bitch fit afterwards. Even’s kind of funny- because he smokes like a character in a fucking indie movie, slow and deliberate. Mikael sort of does the same thing, but it isn’t quite as smooth and practiced. Jonas doesn’t mind. He likes that Mikael doesn’t try so hard.

 

“This is nice.” Mikael nods, breaking both the silence and Jonas creepy, poetic observation of his face and fucking _smoking technique_. “Who’d you buy off?”

 

“Mahdi gets it from some guy his brother knows. We have to trek to like, the edge of the city just to pick up. Worth it though.”

 

“Definitely.” He nods again, holding the joint up to marvel at it in the moonlight, exhaling a long breath of white, sweet smelling smoke. “ _Faen_ , what’s that flavour? Blackcurrant?”

 

“It’s wet cherry,” Jonas shrugs, hoping not to sound too much like a smug, hipster asshole. It just so happens that when it comes to weed, he knows what the fuck he’s talking about. “-but I rolled it with a blackcurrant cigarette filter that I bought in some smoke-shop when I went to London last year. It’s pretty awesome.”

 

“It is.” Mikael agrees, watching Jonas with a careful sort of smile as he uncrosses his legs, leaning back into the grass until he’s laid flat on his back, hands behind his head, joint between his lips. He doesn’t break eye contact the whole time, and after a beat of silence, nods for Jonas to lie beside him.

 

It’s dark- that Jonas’ excuse for misjudging the space between them and almost headbutting Mikael as he lays down, far too close for two _bros_ , chilling in the garden smoking a blunt. Mikael doesn’t seem to mind, turning his head sideways so smoke tickles Jonas’ cheek.

 

“Hey,” he whispers, after a few silent minutes, joint passed back and forth, starts shining above them. Jonas tilts his head to look at Mikael, who’s smile can be seen easily despite the dark that surrounds them, eyebrows raised. “Wanna shotgun?”

 

Jonas chokes on the smoke he’s inhaled. Mikael laughs, watching as he forces himself to sit up slightly, gasping for oxygen. A tanned arm reaches up and pats him on the back, and then Mikael is sitting up beside him, rubbing his back.

 

“Hey- we don’t have to-”

 

“-nei, sorry. You just… you caught me off guard.” Jonas shakes his head, handing the joint back and spluttering again. “I don’t… I don’t mind. We can shotgun if you want, I mean- I don’t mind-”

 

“Okay.” Mikael nods, still somehow so calm, playful smile still settled on his face. He holds the joint to his lips and inhales, before nodding for Jonas to come closer, muttering, “Come here then.” In a strangled voice.

 

So Jonas goes. He closes his eyes and presses his mouth against Mikael’s just long enough for the smoke he exhales to fill his mouth and travel down his throat, and then he’s pausing to take a breath against Mikael’s lips but _not moving away_ , exhaling smoke in the minute space between them.

 

“You’re good at that.” Mikael says, but it’s more of a whisper than anything else, eyes hooded as he watches Jonas through thick, dark eyelashes. Jonas is frozen to the spot- more than a little high and _definitely_ just a little bit aroused. Words escape him. So does movement too- apparently- because he remains still as Mikael pulls away, laying back against the grass with a hand thrown over his eyes, taking another steady drag.

 

Jonas doesn’t have the coherency to ask _what the fuck_ just happened. He isn’t sure if he even cares.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**_Thea_ **

****

_Did you remember to leave my key under the mat? (02:13)_

_(02:15) Shit, I forgot_

_(02:16) Sorry_

_Faen. How am I supposed to get in? (02:18)_

_Is mamma home? (02:18)_

_(02:18) Nei, she’s staying at Marc’s_

_(02:19) and I’m at Ilna’s_

_(02:19) Sorry. Can you stay at Isak’s or something?_

 

“Faen.” Jonas mumbles, glaring at his phone screen. It was a simple enough task he set his irritating (but overall, lovely and not _too_ irritating) younger sister. _If you decide to go out, leave me a key_ , because he knew for a fact there wasn’t going to be anyone in the house to let him in. And _No_ , he can’t just ‘stay at Isak’s’, because Isak has a boyfriend and they live in a one room apartment and judging by the heated looks and teasing smirks they’ve been shooting each other from opposite ends of the couch for the last twenty minutes, neither will be amused if Jonas pitches up for the night on the floor beside their bed.

 

“What’s up?” Mahdi asks, bumping shoulders with him. The party is dwindling down, most of the randoms long gone, leaving behind only their core group of friends. The girls were heading out together- Magnus hand in hand with Vilde looking like _young love’s dream_ , and a few of Sana’s brother’s friends along behind them, singing and laughing and giving each other playful shoves.

 

“My fucking sister forgot to leave me a key out.” He huffs. “I’m screwed if I can’t get into my place.”

 

“You can stay here.” A voice says, and Jonas turns just in time to face Mikael, leaving the kitchen with a giant plastic sac, filled with empty cans. “I’m gonna need some help tidying and it’s obvious that those two aren’t going to bother doing anything but make eyes at each other-” he jabs a thumb in Isak and Even’s direction, and it’s noticed for the first time that they’ve upped the ante from longing looks to actual tongue wrestling, Isak’s long legs thrown over Even’s lap. “-c’mon,” Mikael whines, clapping his hands loudly to distract them. “Not on my fucking couch Even, we _agreed_ no more cum stains.”

 

Isak frowned. “No _more_?” and Even glares at Mikael with a fierceness that rivals even Sana when she doesn’t get her own way. Jonas and Mahdi laugh.

 

“Serr though, you can stay.” Mikael turns and smiles at him again. They haven’t really spoken since the _shotgunning_ episode, only mere hours ago. Mikael had gone back to being everyone’s favourite puppy to play with, flitting around the party and basking in everyone’s undivided attention. Jonas had resumed his role as silent observer, only this time, every so often, Mikael caught eyes with him across the room and grinned.

 

“Are your parents cool with that?”

 

“They aren’t back till Sunday.” Mikael shrugs, pulling at a wine bottle jammed under the sofa as Even and Isak reluctantly untangle themselves from each other and actually start helping. “It’s cool.”

 

“Cool.” Jonas smiles. “Thanks.”

 

“Crisis averted.” Mahdi, oblivious to the underlying tension between the two, slaps him across the back pulling him close into a half-hug. “I’ll see you alter then, bro?”

 

“Later Mahdi.” Jonas nods.

 

“Thanks for coming.” Mikael waves, trash bag jingling as beer cans and glass bottles clash together.

 

“Takk for the party, man. Even, Isak, later!”

 

“Later.”

 

“Here.” Mikael says, handing out the bag in Jonas’ direction. “You can gather up all the shit from outside. I’ll stay here and make sure these two actually help instead of just making out once my back is turned.”

 

“We can hear you!” Even laughs, as a slightly tipsy Isak clings to his neck and rubs his face into Even’s shoulder like a pleased cat. Jonas and Mikael share a look and snort a laugh and then, Jonas is thankful for the peace and quiet and fresh air of outside, gathering up the half-drunk beers left out on Mikael’s table.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s half an hour later- back inside the main room wiping a suspicious-looking stain off the coffee table when Mikael re-enters from the kitchen, arms folded.

 

“Okay, okay- you can go home and have sex now.” He glares at Even and Isak, who are flirting over by the sofa, Even half-heartedly adjusting the crooked painting hung above it as Isak leans into him, whispering in his ear. Jonas rolls his eyes and Mikael laughs, waving his hands to usher them out.

 

“Sure you don’t need any more help?” Even asks, reaching out to catch Isak without even looking as he stumbles, maybe a little drunker than Jonas originally thought. Mikael shakes his head.

 

“Nah, it’s cool. I’ll just mop all the floors in the morning. Jonas can help.” They lock eyes across the room, Mikael’s gaze teasing and bright. Jonas can feel the heat flushing to his cheeks, and chooses not to make a response. Even- noticeably _not_ as drunk as his boyfriend, who is currently clinging to his arm like it’s a buoyancy aid- narrows his gaze slightly as he watches them as they lock eyes, but chooses not to say anything. Jonas is quite thankful for that. He isn’t sure what his explanation would be, only that now certainly isn’t the time for it.

 

“Later then,” Even nods. “C’mon baby. Let’s go home.”

 

“B _yeeee_.” Isak slurs, allowing Even to tug him along gently out of the house. That leaves Jonas and Mikael, alone for the first time since they were in the garden, music still playing softly from the stereo. Mikael lifts his hands up to run through his hair, and Jonas marvels at the way it shines when it catches the light above them.

 

“Let’s go upstairs.” Mikael yawns, reaching over to turn the music off. “I’ll tidy the rest in the morning.”

 

“And I’ll help.” Jonas nods. “You know,” he blushes, when Mikael looks back up to him and smirks. “-to say thanks. For letting me stay.”

 

“Of course.”

 

They walk upstairs in shared silence. Jonas certainly doesn’t feel awkward in Mikael’s presence, he’s just a little bit nervous. They haven’t talked about the garden- and how they shotgunned for just a second too long and _who even shotguns anyway?_ There’s nothing friendly about pressing your lips to another boy’s and sharing a hit of smoke. It doesn’t even get you _high_ \- the whole point of shotgunning is just to find an excuse to press your lips against someone else’s.

 

He’s so caught up in his own thoughts, he doesn’t even notice when Mikael pulls his shirt off and tosses it into the laundry bin in the corner of his room before he’s shucking out of his jeans and flopping down on an admittedly large bed. Jonas averts his eyes from all the skin Mikael’s got on show and instead focuses his gaze around the room. It’s fucking huge- for one. It looks more like a hotel suite than a bedroom, but it’s got personal touches- giant film posters hung around the walls and thousands of brand stickers like _Thrasher_ and _supreme_ and _drop dead_ decorating the space between them. There’s stacks of shoe boxes smattered with Nike and Adidas logos against one wall and then Mikael’s closet rests on the other, doors still swung open and what seems to be a perfectly colour co-ordinated array of expensive, trendy clothes stuffed inside.

 

“Woah.” Jonas says, approaching the wardrobe and reaching out without even thinking. “You’ve got some awesome clothes.” He isn’t lying- this isn’t just a pathetic attempt at flirting. Mikael’s got the kind of limited edition and vintage shit Jonas’ only ever seen on Instagram. He knew the guy was well off but _fuck_ \- he can’t even imagine the total value held inside Mikael’s room. The shoes alone could probably pay Jonas’ mamma’s rent.

 

“Thanks.” Mikael huffs, sitting up on the bed and (thankfully, for Jonas’ heart’s sake) pulling a crumpled t-shirt out from underneath his pillow to put on. He then pulls out a drawer from underneath his bed, filled with yet _more clothes_ , and tosses a soft looking black shirt over in Jonas’ direction. “My parents buy me all this shit-” He shrugs, taking off his expensive watch and laying it on his nightstand. “-so I have to do whatever they say.”

 

“Oh yeah,” Jonas huffs a laugh, trying not to look at Mikael or feel insecure as he undresses. “What’s that then?”

 

“I don’t know. Probably not this,” he laughs, flopping back against the bed. “…throw a wild party and smoke weed and invite strange boys into to my bed.” He turns his head and raises his eyebrows at Jonas playfully, smiling that _fucking smile_ again. Jonas smiles back, heart stuttering. Hesitantly, he makes his way over to the bed and sits down. Mikael doesn’t bother shifting over to accommodate him- so despite the fact that this bed is almost definitely King size- they end up laid right beside each other, upper arms pressed together. Jonas can feel the heat from Mikael’s skin, but doesn’t say so. Instead, he holds his breath.

 

“Do you not get on with your parents?” he asks. Mikael wrinkles his nose and shrugs.

 

“I don’t know. I guess it could be worse- they could fucking beat me or hate me or whatever. I think they’re just disappointed in the way I’ve turned out.”

 

Jonas frowns. “What’s so wrong with the way you’ve turned out?” in his opinion- Mikael has turned out just fucking great. Not many people have ever made his palms clam up nor his heart skip the way Mikael does, and laying there beside him close enough to see the ghost of hairs around his upper lip, Jonas can’t spot a single flaw.

 

“Nothing, I hope.” He laughs. “I was just supposed to be this ridiculously smart child genius who was going to go off to med school and become a doctor, all by the time I turn eighteen. But now that’s in two weeks time and instead… well… I’m here.”

 

“Wait.” Jonas frowns, trying to absorb all the information at once. Mikael is Elias’ friend. Mikael went to school with Even. As far as Jonas is aware- all those boys were 97s, not 99s, like himself and Isak and all the rest. “Aren’t you like… twenty? You’re 97, like Even, right?”

 

“No.” Mikael smiles. “I started high school two years early. I’m 99.”

 

“ _What_?”

 

“I told you,” he laughs. “Child genius! My parents pushed for me to start high-school early so I did my first year when I was like… fourteen. And I’m born in the summer so my birthday is always after the school year ends. Do I fucking _look_ twenty to you?”

 

“I just thought you had a baby face” Jonas admits, and Mikael giggles alongside him, soft and amused. It’s a nice sound. The kind of sound Jonas could probably get used to. “That’s crazy though. High school at fourteen. I would’ve freaked the fuck out.”

 

“I did.” Mikael says. He isn’t laughing anymore. “I didn’t want to go but my parents thought staying in middle school would hold me back. So I went along to high school with a bunch of teenagers even though I was just a kid.”

 

“And that’s how you met Even and everyone else?”

 

“Ja.” Mikael nods. “I remember my first day, I was like… the tiniest little fucking runt of a kid. I mean, I was fourteen- and _just_ fourteen. My balls had barely dropped.” He jokes, but Jonas doesn’t laugh. He knows Mikael’s only trying to make light of the situation, but it doesn’t change the ache in his chest. Jonas remembers being fourteen. Fuck- Jonas remembers being _sixteen_ , and just how fucking terrified he and Isak were at the prospect of high-school and puberty and _girls_ (with considerable emphasis on the latter, at least, for Isak). He can’t imagine having to deal with both at the same time. “I was sitting there on my own at lunch just… totally freaked. And then this guy comes up and sits with me and asks if I’m okay-”

 

“Even?”

 

Mikael shakes his head. “Yousef.” He says, fondness in his tone. It hits Jonas just a second to late that the brief twist in his gut is jealousy. He tries to shake out of it. If there’s anyone fighting him for Mikael’s undivided attention- it certainly isn’t Yousef. He’s too busy being obsessed with Sana anyway. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but… the guys- my friends- they’re all really protective over me. And that’s why. I’m _literally_ the baby in the group. They watched out for me all through high school and we’ve been friends ever since.”

 

“Faen. That’s crazy.” Jonas sighs. Part of him wants to reach up and touch Mikael’s soft baby face, twice as vulnerable-looking now that he knows the story behind it. He always figured Mikael was just _that friend_ \- the one that everyone knows is sometimes a risk to their own fucking safety and needs to be babied just so they make it out alive. He assumed Mikael was the balloon-boys’ own version Isak.

 

He was wrong.

 

“It is. And to top it all off, it didn’t even work.” Mikael laughs, more bitter this time. “My parents have never been happy about me being friends with Elias and the boys. They think I grew up too quickly and they’re all terrible influences- but it’s not their fault. I was fourteen and all my friends were sixteen- going to parties and drinking and doing all that other sixteen-year-old stuff. When I was sixteen, all my friends turned eighteen. They’ve snuck me into every club in the city, and my parents hate it because to them, I’m still just a kid.”

 

“Do you think it’s a cultural thing?” Jonas asks after a pause that maybe lasts a little too long. He doesn’t want to offend Mikael by just assuming things about his family because they’re not white, Norwegian people. He knows from experience in his own family and his own distinctively not-Norwegian heritage that sometimes, it just feels like nobody around you really understands unless they’re a part of the culture too. Mikael, thankfully, doesn’t look offended at all. He just shrugs his shoulders.

 

“I don’t know. It plays a part in it, sure.” He says. “I’ve never been, like… totally sold into the religious aspect. I go to Mosque on special occasions and fast for Ramadan and celebrate Eid but… I’m not as dedicated to it as they’d probably like. But I think the main problem with my parents is that they contradicted themselves by sending me two high school two years early and then not liking the fact that I grew up too fast.”

 

“I’m really glad I’m not a child genius.” Jonas sighs.

 

Mikael grins. “I’m definitely not a child genius anymore. I think I peaked in like… second year. I finished high school with a few fives that should’ve been sixes and my parents haven’t looked at me the same since. I’ve taken a year off before university and I’ll probably take another after that. Try and start school with people my own fucking age, you know?”

 

“I’ll be there.” Jonas tells him, and it feels like more than just a passing comment. It’s a promise- and this time when Mikael turns his head to smile, they end up even closer together than they were before. And it’s nice, even if his heart is hammering. “I’ll look after you.”

 

“Thanks Jonas.”

 

It isn’t even really a _kiss_ \- Mikael just leans forwards and pecks him on the mouth once, so brief that Jonas doesn’t even have the time to react before it’s over. Still- a millisecond of mouth-to-mouth contact with Mikael has made his entire body go over in tingles and his brain melt inside his skull, so he doesn’t say anything at all, just watches as Mikael smiles to himself and closes his eyes and lays his head just against Jonas’ cheek, soft hair tickling his skin. Jonas feels his body move on autopilot, arm lifting up to cradle around Mikael, and like the pup he is, Mikael burrows into his embrace and makes himself comfortable against Jonas’ chest. Neither of them say a word. Jonas doesn’t think he has to.

 

It’s the best sleep he’s had in a long while.

 


	2. part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the morning after.

“Do you have any weed left?”

The thing about mixing weed and alcohol is that, at the time, it feels like the best idea in the world.

You can be high- which is fun and mellowing- and then the alcohol helps you let go of your inhibitions and everything just feels _fun_. The only problem with mixing weed and alcohol is that the morning after, specifically _this_ morning- Mikael still on his chest with drool staining his shirt- is fucking _torture_.

Jonas’ head actually feels like it’s been set on fire. His stomach hurts, as if he can physically feel the alcohol sloshing around, rotting away at his organs. His limbs ache from the hour or so he spent trying to prove to Isak that he could hold a handstand for eight seconds (which he couldn’t) and there’s a graze on the back of his thigh that he doesn’t remember getting, only that it _fucking stings_ _like a bitch_.

“Fuck,” he groans as Mikael sits up and touches his face gently. “What?” Jonas frowns, vision blurred as he finally peels his eyes open and looks up at Mikael’s tired, but smiling expression.

“You’re cute in the mornings.”

“My head hurts.” Jonas is too hungover to be blushing and bashful at the compliment. He’ll save those emotions for later when he goes home and the realisation of his evening properly sets in. “My everything hurts. What the _fuck_?”

“Can you answer my question?” Mikael’s hair may be perfectly mussed up and his eyes a little bleary and his voice a little hoarse, but he’s entirely too chipper for Jonas’ liking, daylight creeping through the open windows and kissing his perfect skin. Jonas could get used to the view- after an aspirin or two or five.

“What question?”

“Do you have any weed left?”

“Yes.” Jonas nods, and the thought brings him back to life just a little bit. A nice, healthy _wake-and-bake_. It’s the only hangover cure he’s ever bothered trying, and the excited grin on Mikael’s face is more than enough motivation to get him sitting up and reaching down beside the bed to fumble for his jeans and jacket, pulling out his weed and his grinder and his papers, forcing himself to sit up with his back against the headboard, blinking a few times to stop his head from swimming. “Is it cool to roll it in here?”

“Ja,” Mikael nods. “I’ll open up the window, it’ll air out. We can smoke it here too.”

“Cool.” Jonas mumbles, and does his best not to stare at Mikael’s ass in those tiny boxer shorts as he hops out of the bed and scurries over to window, throwing it wide open so a soft, summer breeze floats in. it smells like grass and pollen and irritates Jonas’ nose- but if the alternative is _not_ laying in bed with Mikael, smoking a fat one in the morning, he really doesn’t mind suffering.

He’s a little smoother with the joint now than he was last night, the comforting ease of the knowledge that _yes_ , Mikael must like him back at least a little bit unless their brief kiss last night was just a dream cooked up in his drug-altered subconscious (which actually is a real fear, playing in the back of his mind). It doesn’t take him long to roll it this time around, before handing it out to Mikael, who already has a lighter ready in his hand. Then, they sit side by side, shoulder to shoulder, passing the joint back and forth.

“What do you think your parents would say if they walked in right now?” Jonas asks with a slight giggle, both his weed and Mikael’s head on his shoulder doing a damn good job at making him forget his hangover. Mikael just shakes his head, smiling in disbelief.

“Probably not a lot. I think they know I’m a lost cause.”

“You’re not a lost cause.” Jonas scoffs. “You’re probably way fucking smarter than me, and I’m doing okay. I believe in you.” He stubs what is left of the joint out in the plastic ashtray Mikael had provided, and then relaxes against the headboard, Mikael still tucked into the crook of his neck. He looks up.

“Thanks Jonas.”

And then, they share the silence.

 

 

* * *

 

 

After the last of the cleaning is taken care of, Jonas lingers by Mikael’s front door awkwardly, fiddling with his jacket. It’s embarrassing, but a large part of him really doesn’t want to leave. An even larger part of him wants to feel Mikael’s lips pressed against his again- but neither boy had attempted to initiate anything past casual flirting as they mopped the floors and cleaned the kitchen and admittedly, spent a lot longer taking out the trash than they really needed to. But now- the house is spotless- and Jonas doesn’t have an excuse to stay longer.

“I guess I’ll see you round.” Mikael shrugs, leaning against the wall by the doorframe, hair pulled back into a neat bun. It’s far more attractive than it should be, considering it’s a signature douchebag hairstyle. Somehow, Mikael pulls it off.

“Yeah.” He nods, a little stiffly. Neither of them move to open the door. Jonas hopes that means Mikael wants him around just a little longer too.

“What’ll you do now?”

Jonas shrugs. “I don’t know.” He admits, truthfully. “Maybe… uh, grab something to eat. Maybe McDonald’s.”

“Yeah. Cool.” Mikael nods. “I would’ve made breakfast but, uh, I spent most of the food money my parents left on party supplies.”

“Oh.” Jonas lets out a slight laugh, trying to fight back a grin as he notices his sudden opportunity. “Well,” he says. “You’re more than welcome to join.”

Mikael perks up immediately. “Really?”

“Sure! My treat.” Jonas shrugs, playing it off as a casual, friendly gesture. He still isn’t entirely sure where he stands with Mikael. He doesn’t know the protocol for hook-ups that aren’t really hook-ups, just a few seconds of lip contact between them followed by some pretty intense soul baring. It’s much easier to pretend like he isn’t bothered at all by the constant longing looks or the way Mikael’s hand brushes against his as he reaches for his coat, hung on a hook just behind where Jonas is standing. None of that matters at all, not even the way Mikael bumps his shoulder with his own and smiles, before stuffing his hands into the pocket of his tracksuit bottoms and bounces off ahead, grinning and nodding for Jonas to follow.

 

* * *

 

 

There’s something not quite as comforting as usual when Jonas sits down in his usual booth in the usual corner of the usual McDonalds they all frequent- an equal distance between the school and his home. Also, apparently, only a ten-minute walk from Mikael’s place- which excites him more than it should. It’s a place he associated with enjoyment- for obvious, meaty reasons- and also the crippling effect of fast food and capitalism on the human psyche and physical form.

These thoughts usually comfort Jonas, but his heart hasn’t stopped racing since Mikael took a seat opposite him and sunk his sharp canines into a giant burger, smiling, sated as he eats.

“Faen. Didn’t realise how hungry I was until I could smell it. Thanks Jonas.”

“It was the least I could do.” Jonas replies, sipping his drink. “McDonald’s is like, the second-best hangover cure.”

His own burger sits heavy in his hands, and even though he _is_ starving, his stomach flutters, a little too nervous to eat. He doesn’t know what to say. Well- he _does_ know what he wants to say, _do you like me? Do I like you? Is this normal- whatever it is going on here?_ But those are all questions that will probably make him sound crazy so instead, he hums quietly, nibbles at his burger and finally works up the courage to ask- “So, did you enjoy the party?”

“Oh, yeah.” Mikael nods, and Jonas is sure that slight grin and the shine in his dark eyes is aimed at him. “Ending was a little unexpected but… I’m cool with it.”

“Good.” Jonas blurts out before he can really think, blushing. “I mean- thanks. No- sorry, I mean… me too. Cool with it. I- sorry. I’m being such a loser.”

“It’s cool.” He smiles. “Have you ever… like… hooked up with another boy before?”

Jonas shakes his head. Mikael plays with the straw of his milkshake.

“I have.” He says. “I… uh- I actually lost my virginity like, a year ago to a guy I had this thing with. It was a secret, for a while but then… uh, out of nowhere he just… got this girlfriend. Didn’t speak to me again. I never told the boys because… well, you know what they’re like. They’d freak out. Try and fucking… hunt him down or some shit.”

“Oh, man.” Admittedly, Jonas is a little lost for words. “That… that sucks. It really does. That guy… whoever he is, he’s shitty. You don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

“You’re right.” Mikael grins at him, and for a beautiful boy who’s always smiling- it’s infuriating just how _unreadable_ his face is at all times. “I don’t.”

 

* * *

 

 

Walking home, Jonas knows he’s smiling like a fucking idiot. He keeps getting strange looks from random passers by and he knows it’s because he’s grinning like an absolute maniac but somehow, he can’t quite bring himself to care. He’s got plenty of fucking reasons to smile. He made out with a cute boy. He slept over in a cute boy’s bed and they smoked weed and ate McDonald’s with said cute-boy and when they left, Mikael gave him that enigmatic, _you’ll never figure me out_ ‘Mikael’ smile and then winked. Jonas had nearly fallen over.

It only occurs to him when he slips inside his own house, Thea’s shooting him a curious glance as she notices his blissed-out expression when passing him in the hallway, that he never actually asked for Mikael’s number.

 _You fucking idiot-_ he flops down on his bed, back bouncing against the mattress and doing nothing for his slowly returning headache as he runs his hands down over his face in frustration. After all that- he _hasn’t even get Mikael’s phone number_ and now he’s got to _what?_ Just lay there and _wait_ for the next party or chance encounter or extended-friend hang-out to catch a glimpse of him? Who could possibly know how near or far his next opportunity to further explore their relationship will be. Jonas groans- loud enough that _Thea_ yells for him to _shut up_ through the walls before rolling over onto his front, digging his phone out of his pocket. He can’t just _wait_ for the next chance encounter. He might lose his bottle before then.

His phone vibrates then, and idiotically, Jonas feels excitement fluttering in his gut, wondering if by some miracle Mikael had tracked _his_ number down and decided to get in contact. His face falls when he instead notices Isak’s name lingering at the top of his text list.

 

 

**isakyakiiii**

_(12:45) Are you alive?_

_(13:50) Jonas?_

_(14:39) Okay, it’s been like, twelve hours. Did Mikael kill you_ , _or_?

 

“Isak…” he mutters to himself, rolling his eyes at first with the intention to text back little more than a thumbs up emoji before realisation dawns in the forefront of his butchered, hungover mind. “ _Isak_!” He says again, feeling triumphant with his thumbs flying over the keys at a stroke of what must be total genius.

 _I’m alive_. He texts back. _Weird question, but do you have Mikael’s number?_

 

Isak texts back less than a minute later.

 

 _(14: 59) Haha. Even said he thought you liked him_.

 

Blushing, Jonas replied with a messy string of as many believable lies as he could come up with: _I don’t like him like that, he’s just a cool guy, I want to ask him about a pair of sneakers he said he’s selling, it’s no big deal_ \- and even though he’s rambling like a child which is his biggest _tell_ , and Isak _knows_ this, his best friend doesn’t push for more. Isak doesn’t say anything at all, but Jonas can practically feel his smug little smirk radiating through the phone as he sends over Mikael’s number and a winking emoji.

Ignoring the emoji, Jonas pressed the number and immediately starts fashioning a text. He’s going to have to explain who he is, how he acquired Mikael’s number and- most importantly- _why_ \- without sounding like a total lovesick creep. Apparently, it’s more difficult than it sounds in his head, and the first five attempts at constructing a message are quickly erased.

“Just be cool,” he mutters to himself with a sigh. “Just…. fucking be _cool_.”

 

 

_(15:11) Hei Mikael, it’s Jonas. Got your number from Isak, hope you don’t mind. We should hang out again soon._

 

He presses send before giving himself the chance to think twice about it, and then immediately tosses the phone to the other side of the bed so he doesn’t have to watch his message fly off into cyberspace. His skin is flushed hot pink and his palms feel clammy and warm as they rub against his face and through his hair. The McDonalds isn’t sitting so easy on his stomach- probably because his burger consisted of solely additives and maybe genuine ground _crap_ \- and the nerves are building like a fucking jenga tower. Mikael _probably_ thinks he’s a fucking loser anyway. He probably wants to just forget about the whole night, and go back to their routine of _not-quite-friends_ but _not-quite-strangers_ either, the way it should be. The natural order, fully restored.

Jonas’ phone vibrates and his scramble to pick it up is embarrassingly frantic. Not that he has a chance to care. Not when he reads Mikael’s message.

 

_Haha. I was literally about to ask Even for yours when I realised I forgot to ask you. (15:14)_

_I’m down to hang out again and do whatever as long as it’s with you. (15:15)_

_As long as it’s with you_ , Jonas thinks to himself with a happy, love-sick laugh. _I am so fucked_.

 

 


End file.
